


Dragon Girl

by TheOneWhoSpillsWhiteRussiansOnHerself



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Charles in a Wheelchair, Erik is a Father, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mutants, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-11-03 13:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10968345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneWhoSpillsWhiteRussiansOnHerself/pseuds/TheOneWhoSpillsWhiteRussiansOnHerself
Summary: This is a story in which Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto) has a daughter who is dealing with a lot by herself. In a desperate attempt to help her, he takes her to New York where she is properly exposed to the world of Mutants, all while trying to work out all of the battle's that she is fighting in her head.I think I like Main Characters with wings.This isn't my best work, so bear with me.Also, I'm always looking to improve, so if you have any critiques, please let me know.Trigger warning: This story contains elements that some may find triggering, such as self-harm, somewhat detailed descriptions of violence, and implied/ referenced rape. If anyone reading this may be triggered by such please don't read this.





	1. Chapter 1

I sat on the tile at the bottom of my shower with the water turned as hot as I could get it to go. I watched the water run down my legs, my hideous, fat, disgusting, and disproportional legs. It didn’t take long for me to get tired of staring at them, and then I slowly wrapped my large wings around my body, hiding nearly all of the skin from my sight. I sighed shakily, leaning my head against the wall. I had a love/hate relationship with showers. I could cry un-noticeably in the shower, and I liked that. I liked the way my skin burned, and I liked how much that hurt. I hated how they only lasted so long, and I hated that that I only got one a day, but sadly enough I hated that I loved them for the reasons that I did. At some point I eventually stood up and began to actually shower. The water wasn’t boiling hot anymore, due to our half-ass hot water heater.  
The only thing that actually took any time in the shower was making sure I properly cleaned my wings, which weren’t made of feathers but scales, hundreds and thousands of scales. I liked them enough that it almost sucked that I had to hide them all the time. Washing them, because of their size, took about forty minutes every time.  
By the time I exited the bathroom it was nine-thirty, which meant I had to be in bed. I thought that a nine-thirty “bedtime” was absolutely ridiculous seeing as though I was fifteen. But I truthfully had no real problem with that/  
I exited the bathroom in a pair of gray sweatpants and a backless tank top, which I made myself about a year prior. I had a whole line of backless clothing that I mostly wore in and around the house, all of which I made out of regular clothes, a pair of scissors, and a sewing kit. I was pretty good at that kind of stuff.  
“Good evening, Stefa.” my father said as I entered the living room on my way to my ‘bedroom,’ which was really just a loft that overlooked the living room. I had very limited privacy in my loft, and I couldn't get away with listening to the radio in the middle of the night.  
“I took longer in the shower than anticipated,” I replied, knowing where he was going. I awkwardly wrapped my wings around me, shrugging in defense. “sorry.” he smiled, and nodded towards my loft.  
“It’s fine, Stefa. Sleep well.” I  
“Goodnight, Papa.” I said with a small smile, stepping onto the ladder that led to my loft.  
“Goodnight,” he replied, ending our brief conversation. That was how our conversations worked, they were short, sweet, and simple. It was easier that way.  
My loft was really just my dresser, my bed, and a hammock in the corner I often slept on. I loved it, even in the winter when it got close to being too cold for me to handle. I laid down on my bed instead of the hammock that night, wrapping my wings around myself and pulling my blanket over my shoulders.  
I was unable to stay asleep that night, as I kept waking up, stirring, and springing back into consciousness due to nightmares and discomfort. I only hoped it didn’t keep Papa awake, as he was a rather light sleeper.  
I pulled myself out bed at around five-forty, giving up on sleep. Getting up at this time wasn’t considered early in our family of two, as both Papa and myself were extreme morning people. I'm pretty sure it was a genetic trait.  
I was out of the house before Papa left his room, and I’m not going to lie-I rushed to do so. Our house was exactly two and three-elevenths kilometers from my school, which I could walk easily. I loved that walk, despite being able to fly, especially in the winter when it was snowy. I had a pretty great connection to snow, it got along with me, it was my friend. This was partially because I controlled snow, to some extent, and partially because it was the most beautiful and most innocent looking thing ever.  
I pulled the hood of my coat over my head as I walked into the school building, as to draw less attention to myself. I was that kid; the one that was constantly bullied, and constantly ignored. I had learned to live with it; hell, I’d even accepted it. Most days it was a punch here, a kick there, and and elbow to the gut, the occasional hair pull, nothing I couldn't take. The worst part for me was that the emotional damage, the pit it left in my stomach to know that someone could hate me that much. My teachers never really caught on either, although one time the school counselor expressed some ‘serious’ concern about my “home environment” and went as far as to call Papa into the school, but that was it. I mean, it wasn’t like I could tell anyone, the only thing that would do is make the situation worse. The school would get too involved and Papa would go on one of his “Magneto Crusades,” as I liked to call them, and his “Magneto Crusades” never ended well.

I yelled out in pain as I was lifted off of the ground and slammed against the brick wall behind the school. This action wouldn’t have been that painful had it not bent my right wing in the most painful way that my wing had ever been bent. “Damn it, Jakub! Leave her be, she didn’t do anything!” someone exclaimed from behind him. I was unable to identify the person, due to Jakub’s position in front of me.  
“She’s a disgrace to the female body.” he spat, I was taken aback. Am I that disgusting? That’s why they’re doing-“She deserves to be punished for that!” he shouted, which I knew couldn't be heard inside. Several other people in his posse cheered in agreement. With tear threatening to fall from my eyes, I did the only logical thing a Lehnsherr would do and I spat in his face. This was a bad idea. In a second his large hands were locked around my throat and he was choking me. The group stopped cheering, which surprised me given their normal reactions. All I could hear was their breathe, which was shaky due to the cold. I forced open my eyes, which took an insane amount of willpower, and I stared at Jakub Zadinkski, choking on my own breath and my blue eyes burning holes in his tiny, uncaring pupils. He moved his hands off of my throat, and I gasped for air as he pinned me against the wall again, my feet not touching the ground. “Take her clothes,” he ordered, releasing my completely, causing me to fall to the ground as I continued to try and breathe normally again. I couldn’t find the power to speak, all I could do was stare up at them wide-eyed and terrified.  
“W-what?” somebody stuttered. I didn’t pay any attention to who it was. How could I?  
“Take off her clothes and leave her.” Jakub repeated, his voice demanding and cold. I shakily put my feet under myself. My plan was to wait until he looked away for a second, and then get the hell out of there as fast as I could. But before I had a chance to do anything he punched me back down. “Take her clothes!”  
“It’s below freezing.” someone protested. Jakub then muttered something and yanked my jacket off from the back, busting all of the buttons and pulling my arms in a way that make me scream out in pain. There was a moment of silence, which I knew was the group discovering my wings. “She’s a fucking mutant.”  
“What the hell is wrong with her?”  
“That’s fucking disgusting…”  
“She’s a freak.” I lifted my hand, figuring that I didn’t have much to lose, and I began to pack the snow on which they were standing on together. As they were spouting out evil things and ripping the cloths from my body, I was attempting to freeze their feet in place. I was extremely close to doing so when there was a sharp pain in the size of my head and my vision began to grow spotty.

I awoke naked about two hours later (according to the sun), covered in snow and shivering, which was odd in itself as the snow didn't usually affect me. My head was pounding, and a solid eighty-percent of my body ached. I sat up, crossing my arms over my chest just in case someone were to pass, and as I stood up completely I wrapped (or at least tried to wrap) my wings around myself. My right wing wouldn’t bend, in fact couldn’t feel it at all. I cursed, looking down at the bruises that littered body, only to find that someone had written the word ‘DISGRACE’ on my stomach. It stood out in bold black letters and I could tell that it was permanent marker just by looking at it. I stood then, slowly and painfully, limped closer to the school, where I found my clothes in a pile, damp from the snow. I held back tears as I picked up my harness, which had been ripped in several places, and chocked out a muted sob when I didn’t find my underwear or my bra.  
I stepped into my blue jeans, and pulled my shirt on the best that I could, then I jammed my feet into my boots, and began to walk towards home. I knew how to get there from just about everywhere in town. I knew how to cut through the woods so that I was unnoticed, and I knew how to do that as quickly as possible. I thanked my past self for plotting it out as I walked home. Papa wouldn’t be home until four, and that was enough time to get myself cleaned up and fix my harness, seeing as though it was only eleven-thirty when I finally made it there, cold and afraid.  
I unlocked the door, making sure to lock it behind me as I entered. The first thing I did was duck into the bathroom. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my breath uneven and shaky. I took a deep breath, beginning to examine the damage. My white hair was dirty, and lightly littered with twigs, my pale skin beginning to bruise, on both my face and my neck. You could see where each of Jakub’s fingers had been, and it was the scariest feeling knowing that those bruises were there because of an idiot human who had my life in his two hand. His tem fingers.  
I swiftly washed my face quickly, wincing if I put too much pressure on my given area of it. I tied my hair up after I picked as many twigs as I could out of it, and then exited the bathroom, wobbling a bit on my feet as I hurt in a place that shouldn’t hurt, not if they just hit me. If I were to shower earlier than normal, Papa would know something was wrong. I wasn’t one to break routine.  
With the face wash and a decent amount of makeup I was able to make myself look almost as normal as I had looked prior to leaving the house this morning. In fact, I looked normal enough that the only things I had to worry about was my wings and the call from the school Papa would probably receive at some point. So then I grabbed my sewing kit, and retreated into my loft to fix my harness. I was royally screwed. There was no possible way to hide this… not this time. My problem was with accepting that.

“STEFA!” Papa yelled as he walked in the door, he was back hours early. “STEFA ARE YOU HERE?!” he was rattling things now, in fact, he knocked the fridge over. I was relieved to hear more worry in his voice than anger.  
“Up here!” I responded, panicking as I realized that I had yet to harness my wings, and the right one was bent weird. “But… um… I’m naked!” I added quickly, with hope that the lie would buy me some time.  
“Do you have a guy up there?” his voice was slowly becoming angry. “I swear to God!” he was climbing the ladder now, I could hear it.  
“There’s no one up here, papa! I swear!” he was still climbing the ladder and I began to panic. Why was he home so early? Did the school call? “Seriously, I’m naked.” I called out, all of too late, as he reached to top of the ladder as the words left my mouth and was faced with me and my wing, and my messed up face.  
“Oh my God.” he muttered, nearly falling off of the ladder as he did so. “What the hell happened to you? Who did this? Do you remember their face? Are you okay? Do I need to go to the school? Stefa!” I was taken aback by his abrupt string of questions, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. “Someone choked you! Who the fuck-Who fucking choked you?!”  
“It’s really not as bad as it seems. I got in a minor fight with this girl. I um... got detention, everything’s fine. I’m fine.” I responded. “My wings were harnessed and they got bent in a really weird way, the whole thing was really weird.”  
He made a face that told me he didn’t believe me completely, but he’d buy it for now, he;d leave it alone for now. I had loved that face my entire life, because it gave me time to figure out what to do. He smiled a very forced lopsided smile, and walked a little closer to me. “Well, let’s look at this, okay.” he lightly rested the back of his hand on the side of my head, he was testing the damage based on my normal pain tolerance. I winced, and he scowled. “That bad, huh?” I felt the bed dip as he sat down behind me. “Yeah…” I muttered through clenched teeth. I was frustrated with myself for letting this happen. Why did I just let it happen. He kissed me on the top of the head. I flinched away from him, for the sole reason that it surprised me. He wasn't a touchy-feely "kiss on the head" type of man.  
“You have pneumonia.” he said, his voice flat and monotone.  
“What?!” I exclaimed in response.  
“That’s what I’m telling the school. You’re taking some time off.” he responded, his voice filled with genuine concern. He was hardly ever like this, but then again, we hardly ever talked. I guess I was just used to the introverted sociopath in him.  
“You know me, I can bounce back from anything.” he chuckled a bit standing up and offering me a hand. I took it and let him pull me up. He did so with no trouble.

I sat on the toilet, though the lid was shut and there was no actually purpose to my doing so. I was staring at the closed door, and I’m not entirely sure why, but it had captured my undivided attention. I was aware that at some point I actually had to shower, seeing as though that’s what I was supposed to be doing. It wasn’t my normal shower time, but Papa had demanded that I take a shower to ‘relax my muscles.’ With a sigh I stood up, once again examining myself in the mirror. I hated what I saw, I hated myself.  
Showering was decently awkward considering that I couldn’t move my right wing and I took up way too much of the shower to allow me to shower comfortably. So the shower only lasted about fifteen minutes, as I decided against washing my wings, and I tried forever to get the permanant marker off of my stomach. I genuinely tried to calm myself down, but I got frustrated with myself and that just made me mad, so I gave up and got out.  
I found myself in my pajamas, even though it was barely five thirty, my hair was clean, and my face (however bruised and swollen) was too. The hot water didn’t really help with the swelling, in fact it made it worse. I was slightly nervous as I exited the bathroom, but Papa didn’t say a word as I passed him, and climbed the ladder to my loft.  
“Stefa!” Papa said, about ten minutes later, climbing the ladder. I wondered then why he didn’t just levitate himself up, seeing as though he was able to do it so easily.  
“Yes?” I questioned, looking up from my harness, which I was attempting to sew back together, even though I probably couldn’t.  
“I made you tea, which I’ve never done before so I wasn’t sure which kind you liked…” he trailed off, looking to the mug in his right hand. “It’s lemon.” I chuckled nervously, because that was the minute I knew that he knew for sure that I had lied to him. In fact, the school probably called him at work. He was just never like this unless he thought that I was in a vulnerable place.  
“Um… thanks.” I replied with a small, lopsided smile. He handed me to mug and sat down next to me, raising his eyebrows expectantly.  
“Do you want to tell me what actually happened?” he asked, to which I responded with a nervous chuckle.  
“It’s nothing, Papa, I swear.” I responded, looking back up at him. His blue-ish eyes filled with curiosity and concern. I was scared, not of him but of what he would do if he actually knew what had happened, and if he knew who did it (information he would demand if I told him anything). He sighed, and I looked up at him through my eyelashes in attempt to make him believe me. This proved to be awkward seeing as though the entire left side of my face was swollen.  
“Stefa, I need you to tell me the truth.” he was demanding information now, and I had suddenly broken out in a cold sweat. “If you walked away from a fight looking like that, then my name isn’t Erik Lehnsherr. You can hold your own, we both know that.”  
“Papa…”  
“Stefa.” It was then that I knew I was in too deep, and I had to tell him. I sighed again, finally looking him directly in the eyes.  
“So… it was a little more than a cat fight, but I’m fine.” I responded, smiling with one corner of my mouth.  
“Stefa.” he warned once more. So, I told him everything, everything except that I woke up naked after two hours of being unconscious. I told him about how it had been happening frequently for the past eight months or so, I told him about Jakub and about his entire posse. I told him about how I was failing classes and leaving school early so that I could cover it up. I answered every single question that he had, and I stayed calm in hopes that he would as well. Of course he didn’t, and infuriated, left the house not twenty minutes after I had finished talking.  
So I was stuck at home with “pneumonia.” I had no way of knowing what he was doing, and no way of knowing where he was. I attempted to chase him, but he told me to stay inside, and I wasn’t stupid enough to test him when he was angry. I was anxiously listening to Journey on my Walkman, tapping my foot on the ground, hurriedly sewing my harness back together, and trying not to burst into tears. I had always been the type of person to distract myself when in stressful situations. I just didn’t want to go back to school to find out that Jakub Zadinkski had been killed by a madman with a car antenna. Then I freaked myself out thinking about Papa killing Jakub Zadinski with a car antenna. Then I felt terrible for laughing at the thought of Papa killing Jakub Zadinski with a car antenna. It was a vicious cycle.  
I found myself in the bathroom twenty minutes later, washing my wings with a wash cloth. There was something about them being ever so slightly dirty that made me feel dirty and I didn’t like that feeling.  
It was in the bathroom as I was cleaning my wings that I looked back into the shower and saw my razor. I had never really looked at it the way that I looked at it just then. I thought about all of the times I had nicked myself when I shaved, I thought of ever time I had been punched, and I thought of every ounce of boiling hot water that had touched my skin. My mind then went straight to every terrible thing that had ever been said to me. Straight to the word “disgrace,” that I couldn’t scrub off of my stomach. I couldn’t stop it, my mind was racing and I couldn't stop it. I was so mad at myself, I felt so terrible about myself, and I couldn’t make it go away.  
Before I knew what I was doing I had the razor in my hand, the metal touching the soft flesh of my wrist. I had tears streaming down my face and I found myself trying to reassure myself that I was okay. I was okay. Everything was okay. Okay, I wasn’t okay.  
I cut myself more times then I can count that night, the blood making all of the invisible pain go away for a few seconds at a time. I was stuck in this weird sort of cycle, I cut because I felt like shit and then I felt like shit because I cut so I cut again; and when I finally forced myself to stop, I cried. I didn’t deserve what the world had given to me. I didn’t deserve any of it, and it all kind of caught up to me at once. As it turned out, I wasn’t as strong as I seemed to think that I was.  
That hurt worse than the razor did.

I woke the next morning to the sound of rain on our tin roof. I loved when that happened for some odd reason. It reassured me, it gave me this weird sense of security. I sat up, almost letting myself smile, and opened opened my eyes.  
The room had a dark-ish glow and I could see my father asleep on the couch as I crawled towards to edge of my loft, and that did make me smile. He kept surprising me, at least in the past twenty-four hours. As I saw him I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened the night before; if he found Jakub. If he hurt Jakub. I was just generally curious as to what he did during the three hours he was gone.. It was possible that he just went to the bar or something.  
He was clutching one of the couch cushions like it was a person, and he was still dressed in his work uniform. He looked so innocent and harmless when he slept, it was rather adorable, but also kind of unnerving. I decided against waking him up, and instead I crawled back into my bed, completely certain that I could go back to sleep if I tried.  
I soon found myself jumping awake, punching the air as I did so, relieved to find that it was only Papa shaking me awake, and relieved that I hadn’t punched him. He smiled down at me, sitting down on the corner of my bed. “You should be at work…” I muttered, closing my eyes again, rolling away from him. He chuckled a bit under his breath. He hadn’t had to wake me up since I was seven, and I think he assumed I had grown out of the weird morning moods.  
“I ran over a half hour ago to tell them that you have a really bad case of pneumonia, I tried calling first but of course no one answered. I’m off for a while.” his voice was quieter than normal, calmer. It took me by surprise.  
“Right…” I muttered, sitting up and looking at him a smile playing at my lips. “I have pneumonia.” I rubbed my eyes, flinching as I hit the swollen flesh around my left eye little too hard. I threw my legs over the side of the bed, letting out a small yelp as I stood. The entire lower half of my body hurt so much that I was finding it hard to move at all. This left me to deal with Papa’s questions and the thoughts of what actually happened to me when I was unconscious. He caught me as if I was going to fall, which I wasn't, and it was in that second that I realized sleep doesn’t always help pain.  
“Are you okay?!” he asked, his voice had returned to its usual volume and held a concerned yet demanding tone.  
“Yeah, I’m just a little sore.” I found my way back to my feet, shrugging out of his arms. I walked to my dresser with small steps, my wings dragging on the floor.  
“Are you sure that’s it?” he countered, to which I shook my head. He narrowed his eyes in confusion, his head tilting slightly and in a way that made him look like a puppy.  
“I was um… passed out for about two hours.” I muttered in response, pulling a pair of jeans and a backless long sleeved t-shirt out of the bottom draw. “I um, I woke up naked.” I turned to face him, my vision blurring as I grew more and more anxious.  
“Stefa, what are you implying?”  
“That depends on whether or not you killed Jakub Zadinkski last night.” he frowned. It hurt somewhere inside of me that I seemingly cared more about Jakub than myself.  
“Stefa… did he…? Are you…?”  
“I hurt in a place that I shouldn’t hurt, Papa. And I’m scared.” That was the first time in awhile that I had told him that I was anything other than “I'm fine" when he asked me a question of that nature.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a filler, so...

The sound of Papa pacing could be heard throughout our small home, but I didn’t mind it. If he was here, then he wasn’t somewhere else stabbing Jakub with a car antenna. I just listened to him as I finished sewing my harness back together. I could here his rigid breaths, still and cautious, and they concerned me for two reasons; one, it meant he was debating something of some sort, and two, it meant that he didn’t know what to do. He always knew what to do.  
At some point mid-afternoon he stopped pacing and began talking on the telephone. I was unable to figure out who he was talking to because after her explained the situation his answers were really just “okay” and “sure.” There was a “thank you, old friend” somewhere in there but I hadn’t heard of any of my fathers “old friends.” The sentence didn’t even sound like something he would say, it sounded like it belonged to a pompous Englishman, and that alone disturbed me.  
At seven p.m he came up and told me to pack what I could fit in my suitcase and by eight he had harnessed my wings, one of which I couldn’t feel, and we were headed to the airport. 

I stared at the ocean below the plane, I knew it was the Atlantic, and I tapped the my knee anxiously. I was humming an Elvis song I had heard on the radio a few days prior, and I was constantly turning to attempt to study Papa’s expression. It was unreadable, as usual. He hadn’t spoken to me since we left the house, and to be completely honest it was a bit alarming. I didn’t know where we were going, or why. I didn’t know what was happening with me wing. I think I was raped, and I fucking cut myself. And I didn’t know anything about anything, and it was killing me. “Stefa! Stefa! Can you hear me?!” the voice speaking was hushed, but also panicked and frantic.  
“Wha…” I was cut off by my father wrapping his arms around me, yet another thing that took me by surprise. His embrace wasn’t very hug like, it was more like he was trying to protect me from something but he didn’t know what it was.  
“Please don’t cry. I don’t know what to do, Stefa, please don’t cry.” I looked up at him the best that I could with the swelling. Was I crying?  
“I didn’t know that I’m… crying. I’m sorry.” I muttered, leaning into him. His grip slowly turned into the best hug that he could manage, and I snuggled further into him.  
“Don't apologize. Don’t ever apologize.” I smiled. He was definitely acting weird, and it definitely worried me, but in the past twenty-four hours my self-stability and mental state had just gone to shit and I needed him. I think he knew that. “None of this is your fault, so don’t ever be sorry.”  
“I could’ve fought harder, I could’ve done something… I just, I couldn't…” I didn’t let myself cry, I just let myself speak. I hadn’t done that in years. I hadn’t told him what I was thinking when I was thinking it since I was little. 

“Taxi! Taxi! Wait!” It was about one o’clock in the morning, and we were outside the John F. Kennedy airport, in New York City, trying to hail a cab, I was so tired I was falling over, add that to the fact that I could barely move anyway and life was not so good for me.  
“Try waving a them as well… I heard that that helps.” he nodded, and turned back to the road, handing me the handle to his suitcase.  
“TAXI!” he yelled, this time yelling his hands around stiffly, his face was dead serious. I laughed at how ridiculous he looked. This time, though, a taxi pulled over and he smiled victoriously as he put our stuff in the trunk and opened the door. He chose to sit in the backseat with me as opposed to the front, and I’m pretty sure that was what you were supposed to do in America.  
“Where too?” the driver asked as I shut the door, sealing ourselves away from the outside world. He didn’t buckle the seatbelt, so I didn’t either.  
“North Salem,” he said, his voice stiff and emotionless. “Seatbelt, Stefa.” I sighed and reached towards my seatbelt, but I hadn’t buckled it when he said; “Unless it hurts.” It didn’t really hurt, it just pressed against my neck in a slightly uncomfortable manner; I buckled it anyway.  
“I can get you there, but that’s a fifty-nine mile trip. It’ll cost ya.” he said. He had an accent that carried Italian roots, though based on his grammar and behavior, he was completely American. “Also, where in North Salem? ‘Cause it’s two in the mornin’.”  
“Just North Salem.” he said with a small sigh, and I leaned my head against the window in a daze as we started moving.  
I woke up about an hour or so later, Papa shaking me awake. The scenery had changed significantly; the towering buildings had turned to trees and the loud buzz of New York City was replaced by chirping crickets and the distant hum of several heating units running at once. I smiled a somewhat reassuring smile at him as I sat up, and quickly ducked out of the taxi as Papa paid the fee. He handed me my duffle bag, which I carried lazily in my left hand as we walked.  
The path we were walking was long and narrow, and at the far end I could see what looked like some sort of castle. It was big and pretty enough to be one anyway. The purpose of our visit was unknown, but the nearer we walked to the ‘castle’ the deeper the pit in my stomach got, though I’m honestly not sure where the pit originated.  
Papa was half-way carrying me, as I was falling over in exhaustion, and he just kind of picked me up and refused to let go. I wasn’t sure how to tell him that I was fine walking by myself, so I just leaned against him as we continued on. To be frank, I think that Papa was having just as much trouble wrapping his head around everything that had happened as I did. I had never witnessed him coping before, so it all felt weird. He was normally less… attentive. He cared, just not outwardly; that’s what I was used to.  
The door opened as we got to it, as if the person who opened it was waiting for us to arrive. The man who opened the door smiled at us as he pulled the door open. He sat in a wheelchair, his chestnut hair groomed to perfection (probably due to extreme amounts of gel) and his unsettling blue eyes shone with sympathy. I didn’t know who he was he and Papa obviously knew each other. “Charles,” Papa said with a nod. I smiled at “Charles.”  
“Hello Erik,” he said to my father, then he turned to me and extended his hand out towards me. “Charles Xavier, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”  
I shook his hand for a few seconds before responding; “Stefa. Hi.” He chuckled under his breath, and wheeled back a few feet and opened the door wider.  
“Stefa, you’ll find your room up that flight of stairs.” He pointed to a stairwell on my left, his right. “It’s the third door on the left, please make yourself comfortable.” he added, and Papa nodded towards the stairs.  
Once I reached the top of the stairs, I ducked around the corner for a few seconds to listen to what they were saying. “Let her rest, Erik. Hank has agreed to run a standard check-up, tomorrow.” was the last thing I heard before they said goodnight and parted ways and found my way to my new bedroom.  
The walls were pale yellow, but I was unsure if the color was intentional or if the wall was brighter at one point and faded over time. There was a tall wooden dresser against the left wall, opposite to it a twin bed with a white quilt folded near the foot. The hardwood was dull, as if it had lost all if it’s shine and in the middle of the room was a circular carpet, and that was it. That was the entire room. I decided the second that I walked into it that if I was going to stay here that nothing about it could change. It was so simple and to the point and I liked simple and to the point. I was simple and to the point.  
I changed quickly into a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, not bothering to attempt to take my harness off. I flopped down in the bed, and pulled the quilt up over my shoulders in attempt to make myself warmer, but I didn’t feel any warmer. I just felt cold, really cold. 

I was still, and the world was moving. I wanted to run, but my feet wouldn’t move. I wanted to scream, but nothing would come out of my mouth.  
Surrounding me were tall, tree-like monsters. They were slowly growing closer, and I couldn’t run. I couldn’t fight. I was forced to stand there as they grew closer and closer. I kept trying to scream but it wasn’t working. Nothing was working. I was forced to stand there as they ripped to pieces, as they hurt me in unimaginable ways. They did unimaginable things.  
***  
I bolted awake just as the tree monsters were ripping out my heart. My head was spinning, my breathing was deep and heavy, and I had broken out in a cold sweat. I slowly became aware of the tears running down my face, and attempted to wipe them away with my hand as I slowly got out of bed. I walked to the window and opened it quickly, greeting the cool air with a rather warm welcome. As I stood there, the air chilling my sweat drenched skin, I felt dirty, and then I was overtaken by anger. It pissed me off than a group of guys, bullies, could take the one thing I found comfort in and turned it into yet another thing that made me feel worthless.  
I let out a long shaky breath before slamming the window shut again.  
I paced over to the dresser, picking up my duffle bag up from where I’d thrown it down the night before and placed it on the bed, roughly unzipping it and pouring the contents out onto the bed. I sifted through the pile of clothes before deciding on a pair of jeans and a long sleeved red t-shirt. I had cuts to hide; that was one of those previously mentioned things that make me feel worthless. I jammed my feet into a pair of boots, and then I left my room.  
The hallway was vacant despite the fact that it was at least six o’clock in the morning, but the fact was justified because the sun wasn’t up yet. It was a pale hallway, all of the carpet and wallpaper was slightly faded and the doorknobs all looked worn. It had a homey feeling to it, like it had a lot of good stories. But all of the doors looked the same and I really had to pee.  
Eventually I found a door that had a fancy bathroom sign on it, which was promising. I pulled open the door and ducked in, only to be greeted by a guy with a towel wrapped around his waist grooming his hair. “Oh! I am!” I didn’t get anything else out, before I squinted my eyes shut and turned around. I couldn’t bring myself to move. “Ever heard of locking the door?!” I exclaimed, my heart once again pounding.  
“Was it not locked?” his voice wasn’t at all raised, and I couldn’t understand why. Had I walked in five minutes earlier he probably would have been naked, and that would have made the whole encounter five times worse.  
“I’m in here aren’t I?” I responded, my voice slightly breaking.  
“God… I’m sorry.” he laughed out his words, and then added; “Okay, you can turn around now. I’m wearing more than a towel.” I skeptically turned around to be greeted by a fully clothed teenaged boy who was smirking down at me. He had dark hair; it was damp and slightly unruly, as he had been half way through styling it when I walked in. However, his hair wasn’t the interesting thing about him. Covering his eyes were a pair of navy looking glasses holding dark red lenses. I assumed it had something to do with his mutation, as this was a school for mutants.  
“I haven’t seen you around, you new?” he asked, quickly slicking his hair up with gel.  
“Uh, I guess.” I responded. He extended his hand for me to shake.  
“Scott Summers,” he said, and I shook his hand.  
“Stefa Lehnsherr.” I smiled at him. “And I’ll go find another bathroom.”  
“No, you can just use this one. I’m almost finished anyway.” he smiled back at me and picked up his toiletry bag. “Welcome to the psych ward!” I laughed as he exited the bathroom, throwing me another smirk as he did so. 

“Papa-” I walked behind Papa, attempting to keep up with him as he paced down the hallway.  
“And he’s trustworthy-” I rolled my eyes.  
“Papa!” he stopped talking. “It’s okay. I’m not worried about Nurse Hank. I’m sure he’s a great person,” I added, as we rounded a sharp corner.  
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” we rounded a few more corners, and then came to a skidding stop in front of an intimidating and large door. He knocked three times before it was opened.  
The man who greeted us at the door was absurdly tall, and although he wasn’t wearing a typical nurse uniform (which was disappointing), he still looked very medical in one of those stereotypical lab coats. His hair laid flat on his forehead, and it was a mousy brown color. He had a lopsided, yet somewhat reassuring smile.  
“Hank, Stefa. Stefa, Hank.” I nodded towards the nurse man and he nodded back.  
“Hey,” he said, opening his door a little wider.  
“Hello,” I replied.  
“Just… come on in.” I nodded and took a few steps forward, and turned to look at Papa.  
“Will you be okay by yourself, or do you want me to…?” he didn’t finish his question as I shook my head.  
“I’ll come find you when we’re done here,” I muttered, quickly following Hank into his room. He smiled at me and steered me towards the back of his room. The only thing in the back of the lab, apart from a long counter, was a tall scale. It was the type of scale that measured height and weight at the same time, and to be frank, it kind of intimidated me.  
“Could you just… um, take your shoes off and step on the scale?” he asked, although the question seemed like it was intended to be a statement. I nodded in response as I kicked off my shoes and stepped onto the scale. After a few seconds Hank began writing. “This is telling me that you are five-foot-three and about… one-hundred and forty-three pounds,” he said, looking up from his clipboard and smiling. “Which is average for your age, if you take into consideration the weight of your wings.”  
Average. I didn’t know how to feel about the word. I couldn’t be average. Could I? I mean, as a ‘disgrace to the female body’ I couldn’t be average. I had to be one of the extremes. I had to be too short, too fat, too skinny, too something. Average wasn’t disgraceful, therefor, I couldn’t be average.  
I nodded, and gave him half of a fake smile. “A woman of few words?” he questioned, to which I nodded again. “I can respect that,” he added, patting on of those doctor bed table things. “Would you please take a seat here?” I nodded, pulling myself onto the table shakily. He smiled. “You need to unharness these wings; they’re damaging your spine, that’s why you have all of these bruises here,” he trapped lighting in the center of my back, the contact sending a shiver of pain down my body.  
I reached back and unbuckled my harness, allowing my wings to spring back into their usual position, the right wing still crooked. “So what’s been going on in the wing area?”  
“I haven’t been able to feel the right one in a while,” I rushed out, attempting to keep the conversation light and quick.  
“And you kept in harnessed?!” his voice was filled with concern and mild annoyance, I sighed. “That could have led to serious spinal cord damage.” he sounded considerably calmer as he said this.  
“It’s been less than twenty-four hours. I had to get on the plane, and if I hadn’t hidden them they would have stopped Papa at security.” I replied quickly. Hank made a small “hmph” noise before using something to scan my wings.  
“Alright Stefa…” he paused and walked over to his desk and scribbled something down on a piece of paper. “You’ve got a fracture in your right wing itself, and a sprain in your spine where it merges with your wing bones.” he said rather loudly, turning to smile at me. “I can get you a sling for the fracture, and the sprain’ll just have to work itself out, there isn’t much I can do about that.” I nodded, and mumbled a fait ‘okay,’  
“What about, urm… the other stuff?” I asked, my voice quivering just a little bit.  
“Oh.. well, uh… oh boy,” he furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m going to run a routine check-up, and a few tests to make sure you don’t have any STD's or infections,” he chuckled nervously.  
“O-okay,” he disappeared to the part of the lab to my back and returned a few seconds later with a sphygmomanometer.  
“I’m going to need you to roll up your left sleeve so that I can take your blood pressure.” it wasn’t a question, it was a request, and it make my heart stop. I couldn’t roll up my sleeve, I couldn’t put myself on the line like that. But what choice do I have? He’ll notice something’s up either way, my exposure is inevitable.  
I felt a hollowness in my chest, and my breath became shallow, and I rolled up my sleeve. I had more of a chance this way.  
Hank slid the device onto my arm without looking at it, but froze the second he looked down. His jaw unhinged, his mouth remaining open for several seconds as he stared and the cuts. “Oh… O-oh my… oh God, u-uh…-”  
“-Okay look. We just met, and we don’t know each other, and there’s-”  
“-Stefa,” he interrupted. “I have to report this to Professor Xavier, you have to understand that.” he rushed the words out, speaking quickly and urgently.  
“I figured,” I looked down at my hands in shame.  
“It is probable that he will… pass it on to your father…” his words seemed pained, in fact, it was almost like he wanted to keep this between us.  
“I know.”  
“Are you okay?”  
“That, I don’t know.” 

 

NOTE:  
I didn't reread this, so sorry if there are typos.


End file.
